


Nyctophilia

by Modern__mermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Death Eaters, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Knights of Walpurgis, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Threats of Violence, Time Travel, Time Turner (Harry Potter), Torture, Trauma, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modern__mermaid/pseuds/Modern__mermaid
Summary: She had foolishly believed when they had destroyed the Time Turner room in the Department of Mysteries, that it was the end. It was her mistake in believing that reckless wizards ever learned that messing around with time was never the solution to large scale problems.Six years after the war, Hermione is set down a path of playing with time, but with much larger consequences if she missteps or interacts with the wrong wizard.... such as a Post-Hogwarts graduate Tom Riddle, with two horcruxes under his belt, a loyal following of soon-to-be-death eaters, and enough charm to seduce a dementor, the golden girl has her hands full.





	1. Author's Notes

Hello! Welcome to this new adventure of mine! It’s been a long time since I’ve written any fanfiction but I have decided to jump back into it thanks to some kind encouragement from very sweet people.

**Update:7/31/2019 - I have decided to rework some of the inconsistencies that I accidentally wrote into this story and will be taking down the chapters to fix such issues! Stay tuned this week for an actual update coming soon. I was finding it difficult to achieve the type of story that I wanted to write with the writing in the state it was in and felt that the best way to fix this was to completely start over. Sorry for anyone who finds this annoying but I only want to produce the best work that I can make and don't want to ignore story issues for the sake of uploads.**

A few things to note from this story:

 I might get rather dark at points due to the nature of the pairing and the points of time that are being covered. I _do not_ give trigger warnings outside of my tagging so if you see anything in the tags that make you hesitate, believe them. For my Fanfiction readers I will have a list of them featured below so that you can quickly see. I have a general direction I think this story is going in, but it isn’t fully fleshed out at this point so I can’t be certain where there will be triggers and honestly it feels like I’m spoiling the content of the story if I put trigger warnings at the top of the chapter.

 **Current Trigger Warnings in this Story:** Graphic depictions of violence, Pychologic trauma, PTSD, Manipulation, World War II mentions, Child Abuse mentions, Smut, Depression, Mental Health issues, Recovery, Threats of Violence, Torture, etc.

A quick note, I’m a full time college student with a job on the side, updates will hopefully be regular but be warned, I may drop off the face of the planet when things become hectic. If you follow me on social media then I’ll answer questions and update on there but try to be patient with me.

I don’t believe in writing Hermione or Tom as perfect characters. They both have real issues and will make mistakes, they will make poor choices out of selfishness or trauma. I don’t like to write any character without their hiccups, but especially with these two, I have no doubt there will be times where you might become frustrated with them.

I will be writing Hermione more on her persona in the books, so vengeful, awkward at times, incredibly intelligent, and not without faults. I will also be writing Tom on the more… creepy side. He will still be ever charming and an evil genius, but I think Tom shows some very disturbing qualities even outside of him being a murderer and a blood supremacist.

There are going to be characters that are implied to exist due to their children existing but haven’t directly been named or given a family lineage in canon so I worked with what I could find and imply from the family trees. These character’s personalities and descriptions are going to be my own personal creation, but I don’t have a problem with sharing them if anyone wants to use them **if** they ask first.

Canonically, from what I have read and looked up, Hermione was reunited with her parents, but it wasn’t known if she ever found Crookshanks again, in my story her parent’s memories couldn’t be returned because of how extensive the Obliviate spell was that she cast, however I am reuniting her with Crookshanks. I do this because I always felt that it was a longshot that those memories could be returned, and since we know that muggles especially can have long-term damage due to magic, I wanted to integrate that into this story. It hurts me to do it to her, which is why Crookshanks has made his way back.

It is well accepted in the community to place Hermione’s “Mudblood” scar into existence, and while I love this touch in the movies, I am removing it for this story. In the books she is tortured with a knife and the Cruciatus Curse, and that will be the same path we follow for this story. My reasoning is simple, I find that it would be very difficult to follow the path I want for this story with that scar in place, due to the blatant awareness it brings to itself, but I didn’t want it to be hidden or damaged to hide its existence. However, I am keeping the idea that there are scars, just not ones that are so blatant to her blood status due to the blade being used.

We will also be seeing the curse from Antonin Dolohov reappearing in this story, it’s never explicitly explained if she was scarred from this attack in the Department of Mysteries but I like this touch in many fanfictions and from what I understand Dark Magic typically scars much like Harry’s “I must not tell lies” scar on the back of his hand. This attack nearly killed Hermione, so I take liberties with it because I think it was something that wasn’t really addressed as well as it could have been even though it was a very big deal.

I have a Pinterest Board for this story that will be mentioned in my profile, feel free to check it out if you want to put faces to names and ideas for clothing, the overall theme, and a picture into my story progression. There will probably be spoilers there because I use it as a mind-map for what I am doing in this story.

Lastly, I believe in Happily Ever After’s! I will find a way to guide Tom and Hermione together if it _kills_ me, now I don’t guarantee this for every character because things can get messy in the process of everything happening. There will be character death, there will be angst, but our main couple will make it through in the end.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

 


	2. Unexpected Gifts

Chapter 1: Unexpected Gifts

December 25th, 2004

* * *

 

Tucking her teeth between rosy lips, she pulled her long-borrowed sweater tighter around herself as she stood on her balcony, staring out into the sea. The scratchiness was long gone from how much she had overworn the knitted fabric, finding comfort in the familiarity of it. At times she felt as if her time with the time turners throughout her schooling had aged her far more than she would readily admit. At moments like this, when she knew that the Weasley family all sat a floor below her, enjoying their time together and readily accepting moments of togetherness when they could, she often felt older, much older than her best friends and second family. It didn't bother her typically but in moments such as the holidays, she could feel a tight 'otherness' seal itself against her rib-cage like a belt around her waist.

She had noticed this in the differences between people like Sirius and Remus, that sometimes life and it's transgressions against them weighed heavier on people, even when they didn’t want to admit it. She had seen it a lot after the war, some people grew up very quickly, and some still held on to the glory of youth by their fingernails. Her youth had plummeted like the rocks that she watched fall off the edge of the cliffside into the ocean whereas Ron's had soared high above the clouds and into the esteemed glory of being part of the 'Golden Trio'.

Pulling her cup of tea off of the railing, she sighed at its warmth filling her, idly fingering the scar that stretched wildly from her sternum to the edge of her hip on her right side. She didn’t hide from her scars, they meant she had survived, they meant she had been strong, cunning, and brave. Many of her surrogate family downstairs flinched or stared for many moments too long for proprieties sake when they caught glimpses of her scars. She tried not to make anyone uncomfortable, but often wondered at the chance to have someone be proud of her for having taken all her blows and still come out relatively unscathed instead of the pitying stares and words of encouragement that ‘she would find someone who didn’t mind them’, well-intentioned, but incredibly tactless. She wondered often what it would look like, picturing if her parents would be proud of her if they could remember her, or if they too, would look at her with sympathetic glances and guilty stares.

Her parents were a topic that no one would touch or even graze with much courage, she didn’t blame them, even the thought of her father’s curls that matched her own brushing against her cheek in a hug or the quick-witted mind of her mother that she had inherited burned her heart tightly. They were still safe, happily in Brisbane, Australia, unaware that they had ever even had a curly-haired witch for a daughter, much less one who had adored them with everything within herself who had gone to war with a madman. When she peered back to the days leading up to the war, she held a lot of guilt, she hadn’t appreciated the simplicity of her life or the easiness that had come with being the daughter of two dentists. Wendel and Monica Wilkins were safe and at the end of the day that was most important to her, even when it was difficult.

“’ Mione, are you alright?” The breaking of her wayward thoughts came from Harry, a gentle hand laying against her elbow as she tucked a lock of wild hair behind her ear, turning to face the messy-haired hero, green hues peering at her in concern. She smiled reassuringly, patting his hand gently, she was always grateful for him, if he noticed she had been gone longer than necessary to calm her anxiety, he would always be the first to seek her out after Crookshanks would assess her to make sure she wasn’t curled up in a corner having flashbacks or the rather bad days where she wouldn’t leave her bed for any reason.

“I’m fine, just got lost in my thoughts. Should we go back down?” It wasn’t a lie, she was fine, but ‘fine’ was the kind of word that had multiple meanings to different people. To Ron, it had meant that she was perfectly well, but Harry understood it meant more along the lines of, ‘I’ll be okay, just not quite yet.’ To Hermione, fine was a language in and of itself, that bordered on the lines of dismissive and comforting in its manners.

It had been years since she and Ron had split off, not being able to hold together through the grief and trauma after the war for more than a year, though somehow Ginny and Harry had become closer because of it. Luckily her split from Ron had been gentle, no crazy blow-ups or bad fights, it was like they had both woke up and realized it wasn’t working. She had rationalized a long time ago that like Harry’s parents, he and Ginny had been tied together by forces beyond them, though fate wasn’t something she particularly subscribed to, if there was a couple that would have made her believe in it, it was them.

He held her gaze for a moment as if searching to see if she was being honest before smiling and nodding, taking the steps down two at a time down to her sitting room. He got called away by a shout from Ron in her office, complete with a much-less-annoying Lavender perched at his side on the arm of his chair while discussing wizard chess. She had aged well, growing out of her simpering neediness but still filling that void of being wanted in Ron. Her golden locks had been freed from the confines of too perfect of braids and wraps that made her look childish, to waves of perfection, cascading to her waist with perfectly manicured nails and makeup done 'just enough' to make her look even more radiant. She had muted some of the rage in Ron that would come out in righteous fury as teens, she could place her hand over his shoulder, smile, and distract him from moments of sure-to-come conflicts and had taken on the role of his partner exceptionally well. Hermione had grown to love her just as she did Fleur for the way they complimented the Weasley men, who had wound themselves tightly around Hermione in the years following the war to make sure she never felt without a family.

This cottage nearly oozed out her personality, with floor to ceiling bookshelves, cozy armchairs and couches, gentle lighting perfect for reading under, and side tables for tea and snacks. She loved this place, even if it was really removed from everyone else, it still holds plenty of extra rooms for people to stay and feel welcome when she was up for company.

“Ah there she is, how are you, dear girl?” Arthur’s kind voice met her ears as she crossed back through the threshold, quickly being wrapped up in a fatherly hug as she smiled at him. He’d taken up the roll without a second thought when Harry, Ron, and Kingsley had to explain that she couldn’t undo the obliviate spell on her parents.

Letting him tuck her under his arm, he squeezed her shoulder gently, “I’m okay, excited to get back to work soon, I think I’m starting to go a little stir crazy with this holiday.” She laughed lightly with him, watching the rest of the family and friends around them with fondness. This had become a habit among them all since the war, rotating homes to visit with everyone, make sure that the hurt from the past wasn’t creeping in on anyone. It had been six years since the war, but it didn’t seem right to stop seeing everyone regularly once they had started.

A gentle tugging on the left side of her skirt brought her eyes to Teddy Lupin, making her fond smile grow wider as she ducked under Arthur’s arm to kneel beside the small boy. Gently tucking strands of his messy hair into place as it rotated colors every few moments, he was nearly the spitting image of Remus in his face, but his hair was all Tonks. He lifted his arms to wrap around her shoulders before she lifted him to rest on her hip, grateful for his sweet disposition as she began to walk around to check on everyone.

She could hear Molly and Ginny in the kitchen, following the sounds of their banter, sighing in happiness at the smell of Weasley women’s cooking. Give her a potion recipe and she could make it without a problem, but cooking was something she had never gotten a hang of. “Molly, it smells lovely in here. Do you need any help?” she offered gently, only to be given a firm ‘No.’ in response from both redheads, she giggled, the two women were more alike than ever as Ginny had gotten older. With James in an enchanted cradle, she and Teddy waved to the wide-awake little toddler before making their exit. Motherhood looked good on Ginny, but she was turning into a mini-Molly as time went on. She had no doubt it would only increase as she raised all her children into their teenage years.

Moving back into the living space she almost ran right into Charlie, his arm thrown around George as they bantered back and forth much like the twins had before Fred’s passing. That had happened almost immediately after the war, Charlie returned home from Romania to ease the grief of the loss, fitting tightly into the spot that George needed. They had been so grateful to him, and when he had to leave for the dragons again, he made the promise to return more often, and he had, more than he ever had before.

She laughed as they stole the petite boy from her arms, swinging him into their mischief within moments. Her head shook as she watched them in the doorway, jumping only slightly as a pale hand pressed into her shoulder, meeting gray eyes quickly before smiling up at the Malfoy heir. The reunion of Narcissa and Andromeda had brought along the unlikely friendship between Draco and her. There had been a lot of tense moments over coffee, and more invasions of her office than she cared to admit, but he was the first one to get her to talk about her experience in Malfoy Manor, and one of the few who knew that her parent’s absence burned a hole in her chest. “Merry Christmas Granger.” He muttered, leaning on the other side of the doorway beside her as they both turned their gazes to the sitting room where Narcissa wrapped Andromeda in a familiar hug, introducing the beautiful youngest daughter of the Greengrass family as she parted.

Astoria was petite, demure, and complimented Draco perfectly if she was honest. She would never forget his face when the wavy-haired blonde with blue eyes had walked into the Department of Mysteries, Ron leading her into their workspace. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her, even daring to flush when she had smiled at him kindly. That was close to two years ago, and now the couple was a force to be reckoned with. Astoria was a lovely compliment to Narcissa’s colder nature, often smoothing over difficult conversations, filled with charisma and charming smiles that wrapped around the rooms she entered. Narcissa and Lucius hadn’t approved of her at first, but it was truly difficult not to adore her over time, though Lucius still wasn’t very fond of her. The elder Malfoy wasn’t particularly a fan of anyone, thus him not being welcome in her home.

“She’s sick, you know.” He whispered just loud enough for her to hear, her curls dancing around her shoulders as she turned her face to look at him, her eyes shifting between him and Astoria quickly. She didn’t look sick, but she was also in front of people that she wasn’t super close to. While she was filled with kindness, she was a Slytherin to her core and would never show weakness unless she knew it was safe.

“I didn’t. She hadn’t told me anything. What do the healers say?” she whispered back, her eyes staring at him now, the tenseness in his shoulders speaking more than he would admit openly. Astoria had become a companion for her easily, her rejection of notions of blood purity drawing her to the witch easily. When she had asked her if her family was a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight the witch had outright laughed and said that she “didn’t play nicely with bigots”. They were instant friends after that, often meeting for lunch or tea during her and Draco’s breaks.

“Blood ailments, apparently one of her ancestors was cursed, and it ‘pops up every once in a while’.” He cleared his throat, finally dragging his eyes away from his young wife, “There’s no cure. She’s refusing to wait to have children, says she doesn’t want me to be alone if she passes.” His jaw clicked tightly, holding her amber gaze. She reached out her hand, grasping his tightly, wondering how life could be so unfair to the blonde wizard without care.

“She’s strong Draco, healers can keep her stable through a pregnancy.” He snorted in disdain, shaking his head and gripping her hand tightly. He didn’t respond for a long time, until the witch in question turned to look at them over her shoulder, obviously knowing that they were talking about her. Excusing herself from her mother-in-law’s side, she approached them with a small smile, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s waist and a kiss to her cheek before pulling away.

Holding her gaze, Hermione tucked a strand of wavy hair behind her ear, “Do you need anything, love?” she whispered, concern filling her bones for the younger witch. A sigh left her as she looked over to the wizard in the doorway, a sad smile touching her lips for just a moment before looking back to Hermione.

“Not yet, but I’m sure we both will at some point.” She responded before leaning into her wizard, whispering something in his ear and bouncing off with a giggle, only to have him following her quickly through her cottage, the tense sadness leaving in moments. They fit so well together that it rang harshly in her mind, how could one find such a perfect match and still be torn apart from one another due to unfortunate circumstances.

His voice at a teasing tilt called out, “'Tori, come back here!” as he crossed through one of her thresholds. There had been a point in her life where she had wished for nothing more than him to be squashed like a bug beneath her shoe for his bullying, but over the years, he had grown on her, he had moved beyond following his father's ideas without question. Her heart lurched at the thought of Astoria not being there for him and his son and made the commitment in her mind to break the curse on the Greengrass family, he didn't need to lose what had grounded him as a person.

She caught the curious gaze of Narcissa as she looked between her son’s retreating form and where he had come from. Hermione’s spine quickly straightened out, wiping the concerned glance and trepidation from her face as she excused herself from the doorway. There was no way to know what had been shared in the Malfoy home and what remained to be unveiled, the distance between Draco and his family had been deep ever since he decided to marry Astoria without their approval. Narcissa had risen above her judgments for fear of Draco cutting them off completely but Lucius was as set in his ways as the days were long and refused to budge.

Furrowing her brow, an incessant tapping drew her attention, eyes sliding across her home for the unfamiliar sound. One would think with as many people in her home she would be unable to distinguish if an unfamiliar presence made itself known but months of being on the run had changed her senses for the better and before she even registered her actions, she thumbed the familiar vine wood wand between her fingertips. Lifting her empty hand to the wall of her home, she prodded her wards gently, not wanting to raise the alarm of any of the sensitive wizards or witches in her home, and was surprised to see them unaltered or changed. Honey hues locked on to her best friend's green ones as she crossed the room, moving past the living room to follow the tapping into the entryway that typically laid unused by anyone. The tapping was ceaseless, rhythmic, against the window in her door leading to her front patio.

A familiar hand brushed against the middle of her back, and another landed on her shoulder a moment later, 'Harry must have warned Ronald.' they knew as well as she did that no one came to her door, much less into her home without wards letting loose every alarm she could find. Sucking in a breath, she shook off the uncertainty and lifted her hand, twisting the brass knob of her door open and pulled the old wood inwards, startled to lock eyes with the tiniest owl she had ever seen in her life. It carried two parcels while beating its wings as hard and as fast as it could, a letter held in its beak and a small, carefully wrapped box around a leg.

Tucking her wand into her sweater, she cupped her hands out for the owl to land, only to be immediately nuzzled with their rounded head, plopping the letter into her fingers before twittering and clicking at her nonstop. Hermione giggled, before adjusting it into one of her palms and tugging free the parcel from its tiny appendages. Her brow furrowed, not recognizing the script, that only read her name and address in dark green, nearly black ink. Turning her head to look at the boys over her shoulders, she caught sight of their partners quietly standing at the reading at the end of the hallway and smiled reassuringly at them.

Lifting the tiny owl to her shoulder, she took the parcels in one hand before looking out over her property quietly. Her home wasn’t known to any outside of those who were currently inside of it, except for Viktor, but she knew his writing better than most others. This writing was elegant but clearly masculine, where Viktor’s was that of a Quidditch players, rough and at times difficult to read if he was rushing to write a letter back to her. She had kept her property secret, at first because letters were non-stop, and then later because the quiet of her property had made her feel safe. Lifting her now empty hand, she closed her front door, closing her eyes and ensuring that all the wards were intact and sealed properly, a chill running down her spine when nothing was found out of place.

Turning back around, she locked eyes with Harry first, whispering quietly so as not to alarm everyone's joy that echoed through the home into the entryway, “All of my wards are in place, and I don't know this owl or the writing itself.” Ginny and Lavender quietly closed the circle around her, sharing glances with each other as they glanced at the letter, seeing if they could place the writing either before shaking their heads and shrugging.

Flipping the letter over, the seal was simple, again in a nearly black shade of green, with flecks of silver winking out at her, though the actual imprint of it didn’t ring any bells for her with the image of a snake wound around the bottom, runes covered the other edges, blurred at some parts and some she just didn’t recognize. Sliding her nail beneath the seal, the hum of magic she didn’t recognize floated over her fingertips, she was startled at first and almost dropped the letter, but when it didn’t feel dark or harmful, she continued. Pulling the parchment from the envelope, she idly caressed the feathers of the owl who hadn’t flown off immediately, instead letting the curly-haired witch dote on it as she opened the trifold, eyes scanning its short contents.

__“I found you._ _

_I know now how to make clocks bend._

__Come back to me.” *__

            She blinked, confusion crossing her gaze, folding the letter back into its envelope before looking at the tiny owl, “Who in the world…?” her brow furrowed, eyeing the small, inconspicuous box, wrapped in matching dark green paper with a silver bow. Her curiosity was peaked before she could think on it much more, she ran diagnostic charms on the box, but nothing negative came back. Magical, but not deadly, not cursed. Lifting her gaze back to her companions, she handed the letter to Harry first, who passed it along to the others. She sighed, questioning her sanity as her nimble fingers lifted the tiny parcel and tugged on the silver ribbon, carefully unwrapping the matchstick-sized box before sliding it out from itself to reveal a silver time turner in perfect condition.

            Immediately, her brain went into overdrive, and she placed the box on the side table at her door as quickly as she could. She had destroyed every time turner in the Department of Mysteries, she had even tried to help the timekeepers to rebuild them, longing for her time-traveling days itching at her mind after the war was over. Hermione felt a rush of panic and adrenaline wash over her, someone was trying to send her back, would she change the timeline if she decided not to? Who was reaching out to her through time? Lifting the box to her eye level, she could see runic inscriptions on the inside bar of the time turner, with black sand floating without movement between the two sections of the hourglass. It wasn’t like the ones she had handled, it wasn’t one she had ever seen before, it was something else entirely. “Hermione? Isn't that...a time-turner?” Harry whispered to her first, bringing her mind back to the people around her.

She nodded, anxiety written all over her face, “I destroyed every single one that existed in the department of mysteries before the war. I have no idea how this is here and how anyone would be able to get their hands on it.” For a moment, the voice in the back of her mind whispered back to her that she should pick up the time turner and go but in the next moment, she shook off the feeling that took over her to look at her friends, who stared at her expectantly. Tugging her lip in between her teeth, she closed the box with a slight, 'click' before smiling tightly at them, “No. We're not doing this, not today. It's Christmas, this, whatever 'this' is, can wait until we have spent today together.”

Wrapping the ribbon back around the box, she tucked the letter and the box into her sweater pocket, rubbed her fingers across the little head of the owl who cooed at her gently, clicking and nuzzling her hair gently. She needed to know what the runes meant and analyze the numbers through Arithmancy before she did anything. It needed to be an informed decision and something that she completely understood.

Tucking her arm through Ginny's and she smiled brightly at them all.

For now, she would celebrate Christmas, and figure out what was happening in the timelines later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well hello darlings!  
> This story is being completely updated and changed to flow better together as a whole, so please reread the chapter as you work through this! 
> 
> Leave reviews and tell me what you think!  
> *This is an adaptation of Erin Van Vuren’s poetry, “There is an alternate universe where we will meet again. I will find you there when I can figure out how to make clocks bend.” While it’s not a direct quote I want to make sure I give credit to her because it just fits here so well.


	3. Time Logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated & Rewritten: 8/1/2019

Chapter 2: Time Logic

December 28 th , 2004

“You’ve had this for how long now?” Kingsley eyed the silver Time Turner with unease, it had yet to leave the box, for concern that touching it could trigger it. The understanding of time turners even after creating them wasn't readily accessible and to those whom had never played with time it could be very alarming. After checking the description and comparing it to any of the known time turners, Hermione and the time keepers within the Department of Mysteries had been completely unable to find it within the collections, broken or repaired. Which meant the Ministry of Magic had no record of it anywhere, not in private family collections, not among time keepers, and none of the pure blooded wizards at the table with her seemed to recognize it even from a rumor or story.

She hummed lightly, avoiding the gaze of everyone else at the table, “Since late Christmas Eve, we were just about to have dinner and put out presents for the morning.” The whispers from the people whom had been _in_ her home from the other side of the table started almost immediately. The five who had seen the time turner had all decided to stay quiet about the time turners appearance and disregarded comments about her new tiny companion. The witch had spent the better part of 3 hours looking up genus of owls only to find it to be a _Athene noctua_ , the owls were small, tawny feathered, and said to be the companions of Athena from Greek Mythology. When she had tried to send her away, the poor thing had seemed personally offended and miffed with her, choosing to sit on a perch beside Crookshanks, who had never shown a particular affection for any other familiar, but seemed to really enjoy the little owls presence.

The certainty in getting an earful as soon as they stepped out of the meeting was almost palpable. She knew those who were part of the order at the meeting everyone who had been in her home were certain to take up an issue with her for being 'secretive'. It had been the primary descriptor of the girl in the Golden Trio after 'brilliant'. Most of the order felt she had withdrawn from them and had done the wrong thing by forgiving Draco Malfoy but to be quite frank she couldn't find it within herself to care if they were angry with her or not. They had no business determining whom she was allowed to forgive and move past her past anger with.

Pushing fingers through her wild bangs, she sighed, “An owl I didn’t recognize, whom still is on my perch at the cottage, wouldn’t stop pecking at my entrance way. It had the letter, and the time turner in the box with a silver ribbon wrapped around it. She also won't leave my cottage now and takes personal offense whenever I suggest it.”

The realization on Kingsley’s face melted over him as he stared between her and the items on the table, “But your home is unplottable, how did it find you?” She was quiet for a while, her fingers running over the silver ribbon between her hands, before lifting her gaze to look at the other end of table. Draco, Harry, Ron, Bill, and Arthur were staring at her, varying levels of concern and trepidation written all over their faces while they whispered back and forth to one another. The rest of the Department of Mysteries heads were also there, having been called in with the time keepers to try to identify the mysterious Time Turner. The pointed stare of Theo Nott was unsettling at best and calculating at worst. He was the lead assistant to Kingsley and had climbed his way out of his father's shadow after ensuring he was put away to Azkaban and selling out every Death Eater who wouldn't reform their ways.

That was the question that had worn it's way through her mind endlessly. Her wards were immaculate, she had let Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lavender all check them on Christmas morning and nothing was out of place. They had run over possibilities for hours for how she could have gotten in and it had been Ron who had suggested that if the owl had been gifted to her, she could have been able to find her easily.

“I believe that she was already mine…” she hesitated, “She’s very small, and unusually friendly towards me. She also doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to return to whomever sent her.” Small owls were notoriously more aggressive due to needing to overcompensate for their small size. The idea that this owl had been sent to retrieve her through time was a wild thought, but she had no other explanation for how she had gotten through, she had felt no ripple in her wards on the property, no indication that something that didn’t belong there would appear. A pause, and an exasperated sigh filled the room, before Kingsley leaned back in his chair, sharing quiet, heavy glances with others in the room.

The owl getting through her wards was troubling, but for Hermione, the runes that the time turner carried left her the most stressed about the 'gift'. She had run through the ancient runes that were inlaid into the silver of the time turner, coming up with only basic translation in the past few days, the rune for ‘time’ was in place very plainly, but less obvious were the runes for ‘bond’, ‘infinite’ and older ones she couldn’t recognize as easily. Her arithmancy equations were also difficult, factoring in unknowns always made them inconsistent and unstable, and while she would never turn to divination, the need for answers was high on everyone’s minds.

“Miss Granger, we are hesitant to allow anyone to touch this Time Turner because of it’s unknown origin, but we would appreciate any ideas you may have.” One of the braver time keepers offered, hoping to gain some traction and understanding. Hermione tilted her head to the side, watching the methodical flow of the black sands within the hourglass. The time keepers knew that even if she was told she couldn’t do something, if it came down to it, she would do as she felt was necessary.

“I have quite a bit of experience with time traveling as I’m sure you know.” An awkward smile touched her lips, and a small chuckle came from Harry as she collected her thoughts, “I was given a Time Turner during my time at Hogwarts to attempt to allow me as many useful courses as possible, so that I could acquire my NEWTS for them.” Those whom were unaware in the room collectively raised eyebrows at her, which she resisted the urge to flush at. “I’m unsure, and I’m at a loss for where or whom this letter is coming from, but that person clearly knows this as well. I worry about the implications to the timeline if I don’t go where- er, _when_ this Time Turner is set to go.”

Dropping the ribbon in her hands to the table, she sat back, her hands idly twisting into her curls, “They’re speaking as if I’ve already _been_ there, but does that mean at some point I return? Will this put me on a time loop of going back in time? And _why_ , what is my purpose for going backwards? Who is working so hard to make me go back in time?” She groaned, frustration hitting her finally, unanswered questions drove her mad.

“I think the best course of action for now, until we know more, would be to place this into the time room. I also believe putting a tracker spell on the owl in your home wouldn’t be a bad idea, to see if it tries to return elsewhere.” Hermione nodded, stress weighing heavy on her shoulders as she listened to Kingsley, locking eyes with Draco across the table as he kept shooting glances at the letter and ribbon on the table. She cocked an eyebrow at him, his normally perpetually disinterested look was gone, leaving an expression that she couldn’t place on him easily. A flick of his fingertips dismissing her inquiry for now, meaning he didn’t want to talk about it in front of everyone.

The department head of the Department of Mysteries wasn’t her favorite person, Elias Thorn was the son of one of Kingsley’s competitors for Minister of Magic, aloof and a believer in divination, he often left unanswered questions and unfinished claims in his wake, but he was relatively competent at his job. He also let Hermione do most of her projects without any fuss, believing it was her 'fate' to make discoveries and changes to the wizard world, which left her to her own devices for the most part. He only hired independent and competent magic users so she couldn’t really complain, even if his wistful nature left much to be desired.

As he gently took the Time Turner, nestled softly in its box, off of the table, he leaned forwards to hold it eye level between himself and Hermione, “Whoever intended this for you, meant no harm, you can feel it in the bones of the binding to the Time Turner itself.” She paused in her fidgeting, staring back at Elias tightly. He couldn’t know that, neither could she, but she _agreed_ with him. All her diagnostic spells came back clean, it was a powerful, but relatively simple Time Turner. It didn’t feel laced with ill-intentions, it felt like a gift, not a curse. The ever practical witch didn't believe in 'following your gut' and all of that nonsense though, that type of logic only worked for her messy haired green eyed friend down the table from her.

Raising her chin and pulling her shoulders back, a small smile graced her lips, “Whether they intended to do nothing but pick daises with me all day or kill me the moment I came back in time is irrelevant to me. My concern is what the implication of the time line are from the point that I go back, to today and into the future. We don’t know how far back that intends to go back. I’ve never felt a Time Turner that powerful other than the large ones before the fight in the time room.” It didn't matter if she wondered deeply in the back of her mind who would go o all of the trouble to try to find her through time. In her time during the war she had always been the practical one, through tears and too many breakdowns she would pick herself up and do what she had to, so even though her curious nature whispered to her to just take the time turner back to the cottage and tuck it away for only her to know about, to oblivate all those who knew about it and use it, she wouldn't.

Elias cleared his throat and nodded gravely, lowering his hands, still holding the box, before sliding the outer shell across her vision, blocking the time turner from all of those who stared at it in trepidation, “I believe we shall make our exit then, and place this in safe keeping for now.” He looked to the time keepers at the table, who rose quietly as he did, swiftly leaving her with the group of trusted people in her life. She swallowed tightly, avoiding gazes, her tongue grazing the back of her teeth as she tried to resist the urge to fidget right out of her chair. The other Department Heads scrutinized her, as they always had, ever since they had heard the tales of everything the 'Golden Trio' had gotten into during their time at Hogwarts and into their adulthood during the trials of Death Eaters and her time within the Department of Mysteries, a consensus had been made among the more intelligent of Wizards: Hermione Granger was much more capable than she seemed.

Harry cleared his throat, drawing her gaze, staring at her intently, “Is there anything we need to know going forward, Hermione?” Well _that_ was an open-ended question if she had ever heard one. Becoming an Auror had that type of affect on her friends, but over time she had learned to smile with ease and divert their attention easily enough, and even if they knew she was lying, they knew that accusations around others only made her rear up in vengeance. There was so much that they should know, that she hadn’t shared over the past few years. No one knew how her body had felt so unsettled after the war, it was so bad at times, she felt as if ants were crawling through her skin. No one knew that sometimes she had dreams where she was playing games with time traveling, or the fixation she had for nearly two years to fix the time turners in the room. She didn’t want to get into the way her mind had worked after the war, or how the numbness of grief had distracted her from the nearly obsessive thoughts and feelings.

She rolled her neck, before shaking her head, “Not that I can think of at the moment Harry, I’ll let you know if I can piece anything together.” He adjusted his glasses, crossing his arms across his chest before nodding. He wouldn’t call her a liar outright, but he knew she wasn’t being completely forthcoming. She would get an earful later out of sight and earshot of Kingsley.

Ron stared at her with a level of concern that bordered on distrust that she was uncomfortably used to before running a hand across his face and sighing, “You know whatever happens with this ‘Mione, we’re here to help.” He offered, and she was suddenly grateful for her two Auror friends, that even when they knew she wasn’t being completely honest, they trusted her judgement.

The blonde’s mask was back in place, disinterest and boredom heavy in contrast to the concern on everyone else’s face, Arthur’s shining the brightest, but a kind smile that soothed her anxiety followed the anxiousness of the room. Turning back to Kingsley, she tried not to flinch at the disapproval on his face. “Hermione, I know you are independent to a fault, but you need to make sure that you are not leaving yourself open to attacks. We have no idea who this is from, why they are coming into play now of all times, and what they intend for you. Maybe you forget that there are Death Eaters still at large, Dolohov-“

“Yes Kingsley, I’m well aware.” She snapped, cutting the Minister of Magic off maybe wasn’t her most well thought out idea if the intake of breath at the other end of the table was any suggestion, “Maybe _you_ forget, but I’ve ran into Antonin almost more than anyone else in this room and know full well what he’s capable of.”

A snort from a certain reformed Death Eater was heard, before a swift kick was made under the table, most likely from Harry, a hiss of pain shortly following. In the blouse she wore, her scar that Antonin Dolohov had left on her peaked brightly out at anyone who wished to glance at it. She didn’t lower her gaze from Kingsley until he sighed, looking to the others in hope of finding solidarity in them. However, his hopes were in vain, for the ‘brave’ Gryffindor men at the table quickly looked away and there was no chance Draco was getting into her line of fire. That was one thing she had learned after a year of working with him, more than once ending up at wand-point with her, he would dodge her anger at nearly all costs.

Reaching a hand out, she pulled the parchment from her letter back into her grasp, sliding it back into the envelope, toying with the runes on the seal before wrapping the silver ribbon around it, “If we’re done here Kingsley, I need to try to figure out these runes and try to run the equations.” She clipped to him, still irritated that he implied that she somehow could forget that the Death Eater who had almost _killed_ her as a teenager and many just like him were still at large.

“Hermione…” he started, but a warning glance from the men at the end of the table made him pause, “I know you are aware more than most people how dangerous the Death Eaters can be, I wasn’t implying that you were somehow naïve.”

She huffed quietly, that was in fact, exactly what he had implied, but if she held onto her anger in this, it would somehow turn into her being the bad guy by the end of this conversation. She stood calmly, pulling her sweater from the back of the chair and threading her arms inside of it, while keeping her eyes trained at the wall in front of her as she compartmentalized her indignant reaction, her mind closing off easily from years of Occlumency training, another bonding point between her and the Malfoy heir. Her overworking mind had never been able to get over how if any of them had been trained in the art of mind magic, they may never have ended up as close to death as they were as children. It had haunted her, and it forced her to reach out to the blonde after it came out in his trial of his accomplishment and skills.

Releasing a breath, she finally looked at Kingsley and smiled, a glint in her eye that had always made Ron flinch, “Oh I know that sir, I just find that many forget that I was there at every battle too. I like to remind people, especially my comrades in arms when they decide to write me out of the history books, you understand, don’t you?” his brows rose in surprise, clearing his throat as he scratched his chin, nodding in agreement. It had clearly been too long since he had seen the witch, he had forgotten her temper and righteous fury to anyone whom liked to dismiss her.

She smiled brightly at him then, pulling her hair out from beneath her sweater, and moving around her chair to stand beside him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “It was so nice to see you Kingsley, we should have tea one of these days that you aren’t too busy.” She said kindly as she rose back up to her full height. The older man nodded quickly, darting a glance at the cowards at the end of the table, who had become as quiet as mice when the evil genius of a witch had turned her claws on him. They watched Hermione carefully, Draco being the only one to match her step for step in grabbing his jacket and stand, quickly moving to open the door to the warded room for the witch as she dismissed anyone who got in her way.

The click of her pumps echoing down the hallway as the door closed behind them, muffled whispers from Draco meeting their ears as they exited the room. A choked laugh reached his ears as he looked across the table, “Blimey, I haven’t watched her get like that towards anyone but me in months!” Ronald Weasley shook with laughter, ignoring his father’s attempts to shush him.

“It appears that I have forgotten that Miss Granger does not handle assumptions being made about her or her abilities…” he acquiesced, running a hand across his brow.

“Yeah, it happens sir, especially when she’s stressed like this.” Harry commiserated, knowing that the snapping from Hermione wasn’t likely to stop until she got answers. He sighed, before flipping through the notes he had made during the meeting, feeling at a loss on how to help the situation without getting in anyone’s way. The idea of someone that none of them seemed to know or be able to recognize the handwriting of concerned him, especially if that someone was creating Time Turners to reach out to Hermione.

She had always been self sufficient but her heart became wounded so easily, even if this person didn't mean any harm, no good could come out of building a relationship through time. Hermione had more love in her heart than anyone he had ever known, overflowing with affection and protection for those whom she trusted, but the green eyed wizard would lie if he didn't worry for her endlessly. He and Ron had spoke of it at length, concern for the withdrawn witch over the years had been a frequent topic in the Weasley and Potter households because for all that they had lost over the years, Hermione had given it up freely for the good of the cause and to make sure that the war was won at all costs.

Sighing deeply, he watched after the retreating form of his best friend and her unlikely ally. He had never seen the friendship between Malfoy and Hermione working but it did, they were similar thinkers and logical to a fault. He had been helpful in pulling the witch out of her cottage when she had locked herself away for too many days after mind healers from across the world had sadly reported that nothing could be done to restore her parent's memories without possibly killing them.

Draco had shown up in her cottage, a stolen broach from her mother's collection and one of her father's jumpers, retrieved from Australia by the gray eyed man and his charming wife with a smile and confidence only aristocrats could achieve. He wrapped her up in the jumper, while Astoria tossed her a pair of jeans and pinned the broach to the slightly over-sized knitted sweater. Her two closest friends had stared in awe as the perfectly matched blondes had urged the heartbroken witch out of her home and into the heart of wizarding Paris, starting her healing process in a way that they hadn't been able to. Hermione had loved them with everything she had ever since.

“Harry, do you think we should be worried?” the question was asked lightly from Bill, but drew his gaze easily enough.

 _'About what?'_ he wondered. The possibility of another extremely talented and intelligent wizard coming into play, an already war torn witch being unable to take much more in her life, or that war torn witch matching up with a brilliant wizard from another time? _'Yes, all of it, be worried about all of it.'_ he finished for himself.

“I believe so. Constant vigilance.” he said seriously, locking eyes with everyone at the table.

 

“Oh, the nerve of that man! He acts like he didn’t have to see me after I rode out of Gringott’s on a bloody dragon! Like I wasn’t force fed potions every day to keep me alive after Dolohov! Or kept under healing spells round the clock after Bellatrix! How much more ‘aware’ of things do I have to be?” she hissed to herself and Draco as they made a quick exit.

“Granger, can you focus for a second?” the seriousness in his tone made her pause and look back at him as he came up to her right side. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and walked far away from the door, leaving the private meeting rooms set aside for multi-department meetings. Looking around with shifty gray eyes he tugged her into his office, casting _Muffliato_ , and warding the door from prying eyes.

Alarmed suddenly, her brow furrowed, taking in his expression and tossing her anger into a box to deal with later in her mind, “What-what is it?” she pulled her jumper tighter around herself, folding her arms across her chest.

“The letter, can I see it?” he asked, clearly in a hurry, concerned that they might be interrupted. She pulled it out of her pocket again, silver ribbon wound around it, and handed it to him, watching as he slid the ribbon off, handing it back to her while staring at the ink her name was written in. His fingers traced the ink before flipping the letter over and looking at the seal, the runes were so small and distorted that he struggled to read them before popping it off to open the letter again, sliding the parchment out, unfolding it and looking at the writing up close.

Her impatience over took her, fidgeting with her fingers until she couldn’t stand it, she finally asked softly, nearly at a whisper, “What are you looking for, Draco?”

Grey eyes met hers, brow furrowed in confusion, before sighing, running his tongue over his front teeth as he came to stand beside her, pointing to the silver flakes inside the green seal and the smaller ones that reflected off the ink. “This isn’t silver paint or coating, it’s winter fairy wings ground up and infused into the ink. It’s why the paper feels enchanted, and why no revealing spells work on it. You need to be keeping this on you, checking it regularly, there will be a point where it’s going to reveal more I think, but not until it wants to, or the caster wanted it to.”

She blinked in surprise, looking between the paper and him, “Are you sure?” he nodded, running a hand through his hair before looking torn at saying something, clearing his throat, and nodding to himself before looking at her again.

“My grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy did the exact same thing in all of his letters to my grandmother when he was working for the Dark Lord and couldn’t risk her getting involved. All of his ink was grey though, with silver flecks, I don’t recognize the green. I know it’s not the Lestrange or Blacks, we have copies of their letters at the manor and I read them when we were releasing info right after the war.” He paused, taking a calming breath, “I think whoever this is, they’re coming from an old family, Hermione. This is an old technique used by purebloods, not new magic. Be careful, think like a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor.” She could practically feel his anxiety at the thought of her around old pureblood families in the past and reached out her hand to touch his shoulder, trying to soothe his concerns.

“I’ll be careful Draco, I promise.”

 

December 30 th , 2004

Days later, she would find herself holed up in her library, Crookshanks curled on top of her feet as she propped a tome across her lap, leaning against her knees, while she took notes with a modified version of Rita Skeeter’s “Quick-Quotes Quill”, that took down verbatim what she said instead of the sensationalized nonsense that the gossip filled Animagus chose to produce. The letter laid behind the tome, in sight to see if anything else changed, but still, nothing. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t becoming impatient, and in a sick way, she supposed, she wanted to know who had wanted the reach her badly enough to reach across time to find her again.

Looking away from the ancient runes book she rubbed at her eyes, reaching for her pot of tea to pour herself another cup, glancing up to look at the little owl who had taken up residence in her cottage. She hadn’t even tried to leave her home, content with cooing at Crookshanks and being fed by Hermione in between bits of affection, and the twenty-three-year-old would be lying if she wasn’t grateful for the extra bit of company. It was soothing to have other beings in her cottage, especially when she was feeling the stress of the unknown breathing down her neck.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as her grandfather clock from her parent’s old home sounded off in the library, announcing the beginning of the end for 2004. Movement out of the corner of her eye seized her attention in a moment as script began to trace itself out of the silver flecks that seemed to remove themselves from the green ink and float across the parchment. Hermione slammed the tome closed, regret at the abuse of the book coming instantly but cast aside as she leaned forwards, pulling the parchment closer to herself, an anxious excitement filling her.

“ _I hope I still have your attention after all this time._  
This ink is curious, no? Timed to react to ones wishes… rather ingenious.  
I can practically see you now, your mane of hair going wild, tea beside you,  
tucked into the coziest chair or couch you could find, and this letter in your hands.  
Is Pele keeping you company? She traveled a long way to return to you.”

Her hand raised to her lips, sinking back into the couch, completely enraptured as the smooth handwriting arched slowly, as if the writer had taken their time to make sure that each word was clear for her to read. Her eyes raised to look at the little owl, Pele, as he wrote the words, and found herself longing to just be able to respond.

“ _I suppose this is very strange for you,_  
having some wizard from the past searching for you through time.  
I assume since you're reading this now instead of at the side of my younger self, you didn't just slide that chain around your neck and return to me. I'll save my disappointment for later, it wouldn't make sense to you now anyways. I wish your distrusting spirit would understand that any man who reaches through time for his witch will get what he is searching for in the end.”

She blinked, slightly taken back, he seemed almost annoyed at her for taking pause at the idea of going back in time, and suddenly wished she could write back to him. Writing letters was a love of hers during her time at Hogwarts, but the need to explain herself and her justification for her actions wasn't one that normally came about anymore. Most people just took her word for it and assumed she was doing the right thing but this wizard clearly knew that there weren't many things she loved more than an intelligent debate. Her mind stuttered over his choice of wording, choosing not to let herself think too hard on what he meant, she didn't know him, he could be lying for all she knew.

“ _I remember the first time I met you._  
In the middle of pure chaos, I looked up, and there you were.  
All fierceness and teeth, I thought you could have taken down an army by yourself.  
But I wanted to join you, I wanted to help you.  
That had never been an emotion I had before you.   
The desire to aid, to protect, to be an ally.”

Pursing her lips, she tried to analyze his meanings, to pull information from his words but he was so purposefully ambiguous, clearly trying to gain her attention while hiding his identity. His words pulled at her, so obviously longing in some ways, and so carefully tactical in others. She had written many letters during the war and knew when information was purposefully let out versus being held back. He was careful, whether it was because of her or because he didn't know who else was around her, was really up in the air and hard to determine.

“ _Come back to me, Hermione.  
May we meet again, my tough girl.”_

She let herself touch the letters of her name, before taking a calming breath, to try ease her nerves. Dropping the letter into her lap, the image of the Time Turner he had sent her being inside of the Department of Mysteries flashed in her mind, and she let her head fall back to stare up at the ceiling, curly hair draped across the arm of her couch. She needed to get it back. Why did she ever report what was happening before having all the information? She knew better.

The rest of her New Years Eve was spent analyzing how to get her new Time Turner back, and how she could disappear from this timeline without raising alarms from Unspeakables and Aurors. Her library was soon filled with parchment, ink stained fingertips, and numerous arithmancy equations, and when she finally wandered into her bedroom, Crookshanks curled up onto her bed as she brushed Pele’s feathers back, the tangible link to the wizard of the past giving her hope.

Bowing slightly so she could look the tiny owl in it's wide eyes, she smiled, “If he sent me you, he can't be all bad, can he?” she cooed at the tiny witch, blinking without any signs of alarm about her. She knew familiars were always loyal to their keepers, and she believed if either of hers thought she was in danger they would warn her.

Stepping away from the perch in her room, she pulled back the covers of her bed, crawling in and letting her eyes close, her mind not letting nightmares invade her rest as she ran over equations and meanings of runes even in her sleep.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3: Waiting Game

January 7 th , 2005

Staring at the ceiling was proving to give her no answers, but Hermione still looked to it as if it would at some point come to her and reveal something worthy of Galileo. Her mind had decided to turn on her, and instead of finding solace in the knowledge that she knew she had within her, she was having what Astoria Malfoy would aptly call, 'A dark day'. For days she had thrown herself into seeking answers for what she should do next, preparing herself for the possibilities of what time she could be dropped into, who the wizard on the other side of it was, and so much more. It was the possible affect to the timelines that had made her pause mid writing equations though. A sudden jolt of anxiety had woven itself through her hair, her bones, and twisted tightly enough to put her ever logical mind into a tailspin.

For she had already given up so much to keep those she loved safe, that the idea of making all of it fall apart if she made a mistake in the past froze all curiosity in its place. An exhale had left her like a punch to the gut, dropping her gold leaf dipped quill to her desk, her ink stained hands had covered her face, dread and fear wrapping over her like a familiar old friend.

Crookshanks came and propped himself on top of her stomach, staring at her in curiosity, his tail teasing her knees, while her hands idly ran across his head and back. Pursing her lips, she eyed the letter laying on her nightstand. She hadn't seen any new writing appear since the end of last year, but the seal had changed during the night to reveal a drawing onto the envelope front.

A mix of silver and dark green ink outlined a vision of two people wrapped in each other on a sofa, books surrounding them on the floors and tables, a fire outlining their silhouettes in the corner but obscuring their features, though there was no denying her curly hair in it's wildest state. From him, she could tell he was tall, that his jaw was strong but not over-stated. His arm wrapped over her shoulder, while she leaned against him, book in hand, looking back at him, seemingly mid conversation, and his attention was fully on her, fingers tangled deftly in her mane. It had startled her, to not only have a depiction, a clear image of a moment in time she hadn't lived to show itself to her, but this image of her showed a side of herself she didn't hardly ever see anymore.

In her moments of weakness in the days that followed, she wondered where that girl who was sparked with a fire within her for knowledge and learning had gone to, because clearly this wizard had seen it, had somehow incited it and pulled it out of the closed off witch. Now she was torn, between doing what was right and expected of her, to keep the flow of time completely intact, or to follow this instinctual pull inside of her to follow this wizard back in time.

“Well played, wizard from the past…” She muttered. Crookshanks pressed his face into her hand and she giggled, “Hello handsome. You’re such a sweet boy, you know that?” his purring in response left her grinning. The grumpy half-kneazel couldn’t stand most people but their bond had always been nearly instantaneous, she trusted his instincts after everything that happened over the course of her time at Hogwarts and he was an exceptionally good judge of character.

A sigh left her lips as she resigned herself to moving forwards, gently nudging Crooks off her, she stood off the bed, smiling in fondness as she felt his tail brush against her ankle as he led the way out of her room to the kitchen, clearly wanting his dinner. A gentle cooing from the lanai drew her attention over her shoulder, the tiny owl peering at her, feathers all fluffed up and clicking her beak, she giggled, “Come on silly girl, I suppose you can eat today too.” The teasing lilt to her voice as she called to Pele, who flew across the family room to land on her shoulder, nibbling at her hair in playful affection. Digging out the cat food and owl feed she always kept on hand for when she had company, she put out bowls for both of her little companions.

Turning back around, she started a pot of tea, stretching her arms above her head, she moved across the room to open her back door, hip braced against the door as she looked out to the beach and coastline. The sunset was beautiful dropping over the water, this private part of the world seemingly untouched by everything around her gave her a lot of peace. She couldn’t help the anxiety that she felt over all this time travel business, it was part of the reason she had removed herself so far from the rest of the wizarding world. Any time this type of mystery and conflict started, it always brought back her feelings during that last year of the war, the feeling of being chased, hunted. It was the feeling that haunted her in her sleep, months of being on the run and never knowing when the other shoe would drop, it was maddening. Swallowing tightly, she pushed it back into the part of her mind she would stress about later, stepping backwards into the family room and kitchen, pouring herself a cup of tea. She leaned back into her counter top before gesturing towards her record player, wandless magic starting up the soothing sounds of Elton John in her space.

Music had become one of the greatest sources of relief after the war for her, blocking out some of the rampaging thoughts that could put her into a tailspin if she wasn’t paying attention. Playing piano had always been a source of enjoyment for her but she had truly found an appreciation for music in her adulthood that she hadn’t found in her youth, to wrapped up in learning everything she could in Hogwarts to care much about muggle music.

The past week had been rather revealing in her research of ancient runes and understanding of the Time Turner that had been sent to her. She couldn’t read the runes on sight, not because they had been unfamiliar to her, but because they had been combined to have dual meanings. That had been enlightening because she hadn’t even known such a thing was possible and still have the runes be viable. From what she could gather, ‘time’ was inscribed beside a combined symbol that she took to mean ‘limitless’, these two were how she believed Pele had gotten to her, by making the ability to travel through the timelines seamless, if Hermione was alive and traceable, she could find her.

Below those, ‘bond’ was clear, she had seen it enough time in magical union ceremonies and had in fact used it to bind herself to her property, but the rune beside that one had given her trouble, it reminded her of the combination of runes for ‘unity’ and ‘separation’. She wondered if it were some type of phrase in runes, to bring a bond back together, but it didn’t link to any of the known rune spells she had studied for rituals.

Back in Hogwarts, she had loved runes, they were so interesting, and were a bit of magic you could bring everywhere with you. She often had memorized rune combinations and patterns that worked well together for spell casting, though they were more typical in older magics, the kind that didn’t typically have access to unless one of the pure-blooded families felt inclined to share their libraries with her. She toyed with the idea of reaching out to the Malfoys, but that would almost certainly mean interacting with Lucius which would mean subjecting oneself to disdain and mad ramblings of a man who couldn't move past the war he had dedicated his life to.

For the Time Turner, she was starting to get a bigger picture on the role it played, and she questioned the next step to take as she thought of it. The Time Turner was meant to bring her _back_ , but she hadn’t even been _to_ the past once yet. The urge to use it to go to the past her first time through was there, but she wasn’t sure if that was the intention. Often when she had left to the past, it wasn’t exact, then going forwards was often even less precise. If the wizard from the past had sent it forward, did she gain access to it too soon?

A thought crossed her mind suddenly, if something was going to happen where she got sent back in time and she didn’t have a Time Turner, she wouldn’t be able to return, much less find a way back to the past, her heart began to pump hard in her ears as she put her cup of tea down. The more she thought through the implications of the time travel pieces not lining up correctly, the harder her heart beat, and before she knew it, she was crossing the foyer, tossing her knit sweater over herself as she slid into her old trainers. Her typically nice, professional wear left at the wayside as she threw her loyal beaded bag across her shoulder, jeans and a t-shirt were not exactly up to the dress code but in her anxiety driven proactive movement, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

She wasn’t connected to the floo network, too many uninvited guests would like to step in, so as she crossed the threshold to her home, she moved with purpose, going to the edge of her property, lowering her wards, and onto the edge of the beginnings of a muggle village trail path, before apparating directly into her office. Her wand was clenched tightly in her palm as she steeled her resolve, unlocking her office door with a quick wave and crossing hallways to get into the Department of Mysteries.

Avoiding eye contact was an art form, one she had mastered in Hogwarts and perfected during the war, they always gave too much away for your intent when you were focused on a task. She could feel the questioning glances being tossed her way, after all, the “golden girl” had never took unsanctioned absences before the past week had happened to her, and she was certain there were only a handful of people who had ever seen her in her adulthood as disheveled as she was currently. Her wild curls sizzled and crackled with magic as she crossed through warded entryways easily, passing the many different halls and rooms that the department of mysteries held. Approaching the Time Room, easily opening the door and quietly entering, hoping not to alarm any of the time keepers as she did.

The goosebumps that slid over her skin as she felt the pure power of the time room always made her pause, it was a different kind of magic, one she held in high regard, but fully intended to use to her advantage. Draco had explained that many of the older pure blood families considered the magic like that of the time room or runes that were carved into the wards of home properties to be the old magic. That magic was the kind that was toyed with in fairytales, the type that we had built on over time as wizards and witches through the years. It was whole, powerful, and untapped by most of the community.

She closed the door behind her slowly and quietly, not seeing anyone rushing towards her to stop her movements, she crept forwards, letting her left-hand drift over some of the objects she had helped to repair over the years. The ‘tick-tock’ of clocks and near calming sounds of sand sliding through hourglasses bringing a familiar comfort that she hadn’t felt in a few weeks now. Stepping up onto the platform where she had once broke hundreds of time turners in a few careless moments, now only a few dozen remained broken and unable to be used. Her hands twitched to brush them, to feel their spine-tingling power against her sternum like she had taken for granted in her youth.

There was a tense moment as she turned her gaze to one of the more powerful time turners she knew of, the casing a blackened steel, and the sand within it a silver that bordered on platinum. A familiar itch of déjà vu tingling at the back of her mind as she stared at it. She had always felt drawn to the power of it. It had been her pet project, and the one that had started her workings at the time room. Blinking rapidly, she shook her head, trying to shrug off the daze that overcame her thoughts. She was just tired and not thinking as clearly as she normally did.

Palming her wand, she brushed aside chains that hung time turners in a curtain like affect, eyeing the room for the little box hers had been set in, her brow furrowing the deeper into the room she walked. “Where did they even put it…?” she muttered out loud, cringing when the room echoed it through the space. She knew they wouldn’t have touched the actual time turner out of fear for the it to be rigged to react at first touch, but she couldn’t spot it anywhere.

The slamming of the large door at the front of the room echoed around her, and her spine tingled in apprehension as she turned to face whomever was working their way in, slowly as to avoid the echoing, she stepped backwards, eyes flicking back and forth to try to get a read as to whom was making their in and why. If they were here to fetch her, then she needed to make herself scarce. If they were here for other reasons, she was nosy and wanted to know why they were there in the first place.

The clicking of two sets of feet unnerved her as they approached, she tucked herself up against the pedestals, sitting with her back against the wall, casting a non-verbal disillusionment charm on herself, and shuddering against the sensation of it. Whiskey colored eyes narrowed at the sight of Kingsley and Elias walking in tandem, muffled words being exchanged between them, with the Minister of Magic appearing to become more agitated by the moment as he pushed back the chains that the time turners hung on without the typical care that was usually bestowed upon them. “I let you have possession of that for the intense purpose of you being able to deactivate whatever magic is on it, and now you’re telling me it isn’t even _possible_?”

Elias Thorn cleared his throat after a moment of looking worriedly at the swinging chains, carefully eyeing the time turners to make sure they hadn’t shifted by much. His eyes scanned the room, looking as if he was searching for something before turning back to Kingsley, in his palm, sat her time turner, without its box, in what looked like a simple cloth but probably was enchanted to make it safe to touch. “Minister, I understand your frustration. I was perplexed by it as well, however, I stand by my words. It is not dangerous, and nothing I have seen would suggest it has any ill-intent. I believe you should let destiny make its path and allow it back into the custody of Miss Granger.”

Kingsley crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw ticking in agitation, sighing through his nose and looking at the sands of time around him. He was many things, but the Minister after dealing with so much push-back after his rise to power had grown increasingly frustrated when things did not just go his way at his first request for it to. “I am concerned that she will use it.” He clipped tightly, “You have been familiar with her in her adulthood Elias, but I knew her when she was but an overly ambitious Gryffindor with more intelligence in her smallest digit than most of us would ever obtain.” He looked to the glistening white tiles on the floor, as if imploring them to give him guidance, “She can be reckless and overly confident in her abilities.”

Hermione wanted to be offended and defend herself but she shoved her fingers over her mouth to stifle the urge, but as quickly as it came, it went away at the look of indignation on Elias Thorn’s face, “It is her life, you can not treat her as if she has no say in it and take away her choices.” He set his shoulders and raised his chin, “Miss Granger is one of the most responsible and hardworking witches I have ever met. She has dedicated her life to doing the right thing, so why are you trying to rob her of opportunities to let the fates reward her?” This made her blink, she hadn’t known the man had ever held her in such high opinion.

The Minister didn’t seem to have a response that he felt justified the actions, looking back up to Elias but not saying a word for a while, “What if it changes all of our lives for the worst? We have no idea what she could do in the past, just look at her impact in our lives.” He muttered, a look of concern and trepidation stressing the lines of his face.

She watched Elias palm the time turner slightly, before turning to the exact space she was hidden, and hanging it by the chain on the hook above her head, seemingly looking right at her as he did. “Then she was always going to do it.” He paused, turning back to Kingsley, “Don’t you see? That letter is written to the future her, not to the person they met in the past. The person who sent the time turner has already met her, has already wanted her, and has already _lost_ her. They are giving her a way to return so that they might be reunited, not so that they might meet. Kingsley, she has already _been_ there, this will change _nothing_ in the time line.”

Her mouth felt dry as she saw Kingsley connect the dots in his mind, nodding in tense apprehension before sighing, “Then whatever will be, will be. If you’re right, then there’s nothing to be done but wait and see what she does and when she will go to the past.”

Elias Thorn smiled in that calm way that all believers in fate seemed to, unafraid of the future to come and at peace at whatever came to be. Luna often carried the same look across her face and it made Hermione relax. Even if she didn’t particularly believe in the nonsense of Divination, she believed in intuition. He clapped a hand onto the Minister’s shoulders, gently leading him out of the time room, a backwards glance cast over his shoulder, practically making direct eye contact with her, a teasing wink sent her way before continuing in his footsteps. “You have to relax Minister Shacklebolt, you’re going to grow weary in your old age if you’re not careful.”

A light chuckle escaped her old ally as again their footsteps fell into synchronicity, and a few moments later, the large door opened, then closed, and finally Hermione let go of the breath she was holding. The echo of Elias' words on repeat in her mind, toying with her iron clad resolve and melting it down like a potion gone awry in its brewing. “Letting the fates reward me, huh...” she sighed, dropping her disillusionment spell.

She looked directly above her at the time turner that had been calling to her for what felt like ages now, its chain was long, it would come to rest towards her waist, maybe even lower if she put it on. Pursing her lips, she steeled her resolve, reaching out a hand, and gently brushing the casing with her fingers, smiling when nothing immediately happened. She let the disillusionment charm fall away as she stood, pocketing her wand, she lifted the tiny little time-turner off the hook by the chain. She wasn’t daring enough to touch the metal where the sand rested, but she tugged it on over her neck, lifting her hair out of the way. Looking at it closely, she realized how very small it was in comparison to even the regular time turners around her, before a thought suddenly struck her, and she turned back to the pedestal where she had been hiding.

The time turner that she had worked on for years, was the same as the one in her hands, just with opposite colors, and differing sizes. They both had runes inscribed into them, and sand that flowed without any turns being made to it. The one she had worked on was larger, and difficult to wear around one’s neck due to its weight, but other than that, they were nearly identical, similar star patterns inscribed into their casings and their mechanics were similarly put into place.

She felt unnerved, a sudden wave of curiosity spiked with concern catching her, before an urge rolled over her to reach out to the other time turner. Her little gift clutched tightly in one hand, pressing it against her body in a long forgotten nervous habit, while her other hand grasped her pet project in her fingers, it nearly covered all of them in its size, fitting neatly into the palm of her hand.

For a moment, nothing happened, and she idly stared at both, brow furrowed at how nearly identical they were, making her mind run wild at the implications, for most time turners only looked the same as these if they were created by the same person, it acted as a signature of sorts. They were a perfect opposite pair. But if that was the case, then-

A pulse.

She could feel a pulse that wasn’t her own coming from the time turners in her hands, her mouth fell open slightly, watching as the sands in both seemed to flair to life, moving back and forth within their hourglasses in time to the pulse she could now hear audibly in her ears, throbbing loudly every. Suddenly, the one she had worked on before began to double, then triple its rhythm, falling out of sync with the one she had been gifted, before the mechanism holding the hourglass began to spin without any encouragement from her hands.

Hermione’s first instinct was to drop it, to let it and it’s chain slip through her fingers and run away from it, but then, the voice of Elias echoed in her ears, that this was always _meant_ to happen, and she paused, just long enough for the time turner to freeze in place, locking it's gears tight, and her world to feel like it had decided to twist on its axis.

Then darkness, cold, deep, darkness.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello, hello, hello!  
> Well, here we go, we’re finally stepping back in time, get ready ya’ll this is going to be so much fun and I’m living for every moment of it.   
> Please leave feedback! I love to hear from you all and love to know your thoughts, I’m always seeking to improve my writing so if you see something, let me know! - Shyla


	5. The Knights of Walpurgis

Chapter 4: The Knights of Walpurgis

 

January 8th, 1950:

Within darkness, Hermione could dimly recognize the familiar abysmal cold of rain dancing across her cheeks as she tried to force herself to open her eyes. She could feel her equilibrium being off-kilter, her vertigo trying to sort itself out between her ears and pressing being of her breathing to even out came to her quickly. Her hand clenched tightly against the time turners still pressed to her chest, while her other hand met the cool metal of the larger time turners.

The flutter of eyelashes brushed her cheeks, cringing back slightly as rain poured down around her, forcing her to turn her head and instantly regret it. Everything ached, and the aching made her vision swim. But she was Hermione Granger, and pain didn't stop her from _anything_.

Steeling her nerves, she inhaled deeply and forced her eyes open, only to be met with familiar cobblestone tiles of Diagon Alley. Her brow furrowed, eyes blinking in confusion. She'd never had a time turner move her location and move her through time. Sliding her hand with the larger time turner up to her line of vision, she noted that the sands had stopped flowing, before sighing, tugged her lip between her teeth. Interesting.

Lowering the time turner to rest on her waist, she placed her hand behind her to help lift her up off the cobblestone ground, tucking her feet into herself as she sat up, her mind's gears turning tightly, straightening her spine as she sat up, and an uncanny feeling of recognition tugging at her mind as she looked around. She was tucked up into some side street, near a wall with packing crates, no one seemed to notice her, to which she as grateful as she peered out onto the road of people dressed in much more delicate fashions than she was used to even in her modern Wizarding Britain. A breath of unease left her as she leaned forward to look at the main road more closely, the time turner at her waist falling to her lap, while her gift fell between her skin and her shirt. She slid herself backward to be under the covering above the wall, leaning back against it. Her brain itched at her to place the fashions of the time, but the differences between wizarding world fashions and Muggle fashions were as strong as ever.

The dull throb between her eyes had her leaning behind the crate, head rolling back with a dull thud to the brick building behind her. The mental checklist in her mind trying to figure out how to arrange itself into a plan. She had hoped that if she were going to go to the past, she would at least be prepared. Reaching for her tiny beaded bag, she sighed in relief, months of being on the run had never broken her habit of keeping an exorbitant amount of supplies on hand, though she still wasn't as prepared as she'd like to be. She knew she kept an emergency amount of currency from different countries and Wizarding Britain on her, well enough to give her time to get on her feet wherever she ended up.

Swallowing tightly at facing the unknown a daunting feeling that she hadn't faced in years. She had been allowed to hallow up in her little cottage with only Crookshanks, and her books to occupy her mind besides when she played in the Department of Mysteries. Pressing her fingertips to her eyes, she tried to clear her mind, this wasn't the place for this, she could wallow in her anxiety once she was established elsewhere.

Sliding her fingers into her hair, she tugged it free of the messy bun atop her head, letting her wild curls pour around her shoulders and the middle of her back, rolling her neck as she placed the band holding it up onto her wrist. Peeking her head out again, she noted that stockings were still present, with either stylish oxfords or heels on most of the women walking around, pursing her lips she transfigured her socks into black tights, her worn-in trainers into black oxfords, before glancing back. Many of the women who were walking around had a hand tucked into an elbow of a man, hair rolled back in neat wisps of what might one day turn into bangs. Simple, clear makeup was on all of their faces, not the '80s then, she thought idly, a smirk twitching at her lips, her head tilting as she noticed the length of skirts on separates and dresses alike, nothing too revealing and, she couldn't see the tops on most of the women, covered by wizarding robes, but the realization that she was more than 20 years back was striking her fascinated in place.

The tingle of recognition hit her quite suddenly, of images in the wizarding newspapers from Grindelwald's defeat, of the women who were dressed modestly but classic, reminiscent of the styles of 1940s in America, she hedged her bets, choosing to claim it was from her being out of the country if necessary. Palming the larger time turner, she slid it into her beaded bag, able to keep one on her, but not the other without drawing attention to herself, she would find an alternative way to keep it with her when she wasn't cold and disoriented.

Standing slowly, letting herself lean against the wall, she slid her sweater off her shoulders, removing her mother's broach as she changed it into a black wool set of wizarding robes before pinning it back int place and setting it aside on the crate beside her. She transfigured her comfortable denim jeans into a dark gray high-wasted button up skirt (with pockets for good measure), then playing safe, changed her simple t-shirt into a white with light gray polka dotted long sleeved button up blouse, before tucking it comfortably around her waist. Sliding the time turner out from beneath her shirt, she envisioned the image of her grandmother's collar pin in her mind, simple, it went with everything, two pearls on either side of a gold chain that pinned to the front of every cardigan and collar she wore. With the image clear in her mind, she transfigured the little gift into a near identical replica, bringing a smile to her lips as she fastened it to her collar ends.

Looking over at the main road again, she used sticking charms to roll her long bangs back into similar pins to the women walking, before quickly changing her tiny diamond stud earrings to matching pearls, and her beaded bag into a matching black leather to her oxfords. Straightening her posture, she slid the bag back across her body, before grasping the transfigured cloak and sliding it across her shoulders. Avoiding standing under uncovered parts of the roadway as much as possible, casting a non-verbal warming charm on herself before tucking her wand into the pocket of her skirt.

She put a pleasant smile on her lips before crossing the distance into the somewhat familiar road of Diagon Alley, she turned her head to left, then the right, trying to catch her bearings, a familiar wave of relief hitting her at the spotting of The Leaky Cauldron, an unfamiliar potion's shop now resting above it, with a cauldron shop beside it and of course Madam Malkin's where it had always been. The small pang of sadness at no sign of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes passed through her, in its place was a rather large apothecary named, ‘Grimes and Draum's Apothecary' it was only then that she realized she was in one of the connecting alleyways to Knockturn Alley, but now there wasn't the clear avoidance of the space, nor the dreary atmosphere surrounding it as she peered over her shoulder, curiosity tickling at her mind.

There were people standing at the ends of the alley, laughing, bright smiles on their faces as they congregated in the place that for so long been completely set off limits to her. They all looked around her age, girls with perfectly curled or straightened hair, hands tucked into the elbows of their male counterparts. Double checking her outfit, she was happy to see that while not perfectly matched, she didn't stand out starkly against their appearances. Rubbing her fingertips together, she whispered an incantation for a beauty charm Lavender had taught her to press a light blush to her cheeks and darken her lashes, silently thanking the witch as she leaned against the opening to the Diagon Alley, staring out and suddenly feeling like she had when she didn't know who to sit with at lunch when she had dealt with rounds of dislike in the house of Gryffindor among her peers.

Gathering her Gryffindor bravery, she straightened her spine, exhaled her fear, and stepped out into the cobblestone path, turning on her heel to move towards where she knew The Leaky Cauldron to be in reference to Flourish & Blott's. Her eyes caught one of the boys down the alley as she did, raising the hairs on the back of her neck for only a moment before the familiar signs of Diagon Alley obscured her view as she walked. Surprised at the still similar stalls, and some unfamiliar little shops with charms, love potions, and trinkets all the same. A grin crossed her lips at the familiar signage of The Leaky Cauldron, stepping up into the pub with confidence, that threatened to stilt itself at the sight of nearly no other women in the space, but with a confident smile that would threaten Astoria Malfoy's glow, she pulled it up by the skin of her teeth before walking straight up to the bar.

‘Shoulders back, breath relaxed, and confidence, even if you have to fake it.' She could practically hear the blonde whisper in her ear as she made eye contact with the barkeep, whose brow raised at her in curiosity. He finished pouring for the first patron before striding up to her, he was young, maybe a year or so younger than herself.

"Hello miss, how might I help you?" he grinned with a full set of pearly, wizardly shined teeth. He was a little taller than her, white button up, a bar rag slung over his shoulder, and slacks. His sandy blonde hair caught on the sunlight every time the pub door opened, reminding her almost of a younger, more confident Remus Lupin.

She smiled back at him kindly, "I'm in town for a while, I was wondering if you have any rooms available?" unshouldering her bag already to retrieve her wallet. Again, his eyebrow peaked as he stared at her, looking over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone were accompanying her. She had a funny feeling it was strange of her to be wanting to stay here, by herself, with no escort.

"For just you?" He paused at her nodding, "Sure, I suppose so, we have a couple of single rooms upstairs, they're nothing fancy but it's a roof over your head." She laughed lightly, understanding exactly what he meant from her experiences staying at the Leaky, but she didn't have a ton of options now and wanted out of the rain.

"Can I pay in advance to hold the room for the week? I'm not sure if I'll need it that long but I'd rather have it reserved if I do." He agreed, giving her a total that way undershot the total of a similar stay in her time, giving her more reason to believe that she was closer to the 1940s or 1950s that she had even originally thought as she handed the few galleons over.

He directed her towards room number eight, settling a pewter toned key with a pale yellow ribbon tied through it on the counter in front of her, before pointing her in the direction she already knew to head towards, trying not to look back at any of the wizards staring at her idly for too long.

Toeing her way up the stairs, she quietly made her way up to the quaint room, sliding her key through the lock, and turning it, eyes fluttering shut as a wave of magic slid over her, the magic of the pub recognizing her as a paying guest. Opening the door, she blinked in mild surprise at the lightness of the room, it was nothing lavish, but simple and sweet. A day bed rested beneath the window sill, white and pale blue covering the room with gray and silver accents here and there. Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her, taking in the small wardrobe in the corner of the room, writing desk, and table beside the bed, letting a smile grace her face.

Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out her favorite quill and one of her writing notebooks. It was stained with ink splotches where she got carried away with wayward thoughts and ramblings, but filled with endless arithmancy equations and predictions, dedicated entire sections to deciphering ancient runes, and more theories on time turners and traveling through time than she cared to ever admit to her superiors. Pressing her heels against her toes, she stepped out of her oxfords, settling herself onto the bed, peering out the window at the people of the past that her mysterious companion had encouraged her to come through time to see.

She began to write down the observations she had already made, making assumptions on the time frame and taking some liberties at the state of the wizarding world around her. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she sighed, she needed to head out into the world around her, she just didn’t have enough to work with to make any sort of predictions with arithmancy. Without the variables to work through equations, it all would be speculation and assumption. Pulling out both time turners from her bag and from around her neck, she laid them side by side again, sketching out their full design into her notebooks before returning them to their perspective places.

Shutting her notebook shut with a ‘click’, she tucked it back within her satchel, tossing it over her shoulder, and sliding her cloak across her frame, tucking the little pewter key into the pocket for her skirt. Locking her door and setting an alerting ward against her room, she stepped back carefully down the stairs to the pub, smiling at the barkeep before finding a small table at the back of the room, perfect for people watching.

Sliding her notebook out of her satchel again, she sat in the comforting lull of the pub that had often become a place where she would do work in her adult years, the chatter around her drowning out into nothingness as she wrote, taking in observations easily around her. England was clearly not still under the crippling financial burden of war, if the liveliness of the people around her were any sort of tell. She knew that wizarding style could be a little delayed to the changes of the muggle fashions, often inspired off the fashion designers, though you would never hear a respectable pure-blood witch admit to such.

Forcing herself not to jump out of her skin, she was startled as a glass came down beside her writing hand, peering up through her eyelashes at the same bar keep, “Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. Would you like anything other than water to drink?” all confident smiles and charm.

“No, thankyou though.” She replied, nodding to him before returning to her work, unintentionally dismissing the boy with her tight composure. She diligently drew out runes from the time turners again, they were mismatched in the inscriptions on them, but it was the only difference in the physical design other than the size and color of them. Her eyes flashed up when a rather large group walked into the Leaky, her mind itching in recognition as the same group who had been in the alley as her walked in, minus a few of the people who had been there before.

A flash of blonde hair caught her attention as a man who looked strikingly similar to a certain Malfoy heir broke away from the group to hug the bartender, they could have been brothers outside of his light blue eyes that shone even in the low lighting. He was slightly broader in the shoulders than Draco, but the cheekbones were a dead giveaway with his height. He stepped away and gestured to another blonde, with delicate, fairy like features to come forwards. Her hair was even lighter blonde, with nearly silver coin eyes that Hermione could have sworn were metallic, she was ethereal and the witch from the future would swear on everything that she was some type of Veela with her easy charm and grace that she had only seen from Fleur in her own time.

As she came to his side, a memory flashed, of a family portrait of these two, plus a young Lucius in the girls arms, they had been older, but not by too much, maybe a few years. 'Abraxas and Ophelia Malfoy, my grandparents', the voice of Draco echoed in her memory. His grandfather had been an exceptional wizard, with a political record that put Lucius to utter shame and had been one of the main reasons the wizarding world had been willing to forgive the former Death Eater with time and punishment.

Her eyes drifted to the other parts of their group, her mind reaching to place who they all were, there were, to see the faces of their children in them, when she locked eyes onto a much younger, even pretty version of the portrait that had hung in Grimmauld Place, Walburga, with her hateful mouth and sleek black hair smoothed back away from her face with a hairpin made to look like a constellation. The ring on her left hand called the curly haired muggleborn to look for Orion, who had already sat down at one of the larger tables, holding it for the others as they mingled. He was clearly more reserved, but Sirius had obviously gained most of his features from his father, with a strong jawline and curly wisps of black hair gracing his face. He stared at his wife with patience, as she gossiped loudly with another of the girls in their group before settling down beside him. The instant flash of Pansy Parkinson's attitude flashed through her mind at watching Walburga, she was very similar in the way she carried herself and her bigotry.

She couldn't place many of the others, but there were a few other couples, some with rings, some without, but their features were too far apart from their children for Hermione to be able to place them without reference. They left a few chairs open, implying more were to come by, but for the moment they sat, clearly comfortable with one another, drinking and enjoying their time while they waited.

Hermione shook off her staring, knowing one of the well educated witches or wizards would notice eventually if she stared for too long, instead returning to her writing, working through a piece she had started back in her time, an arithmancy equation she had come up with to try to find the wizard who had called for her through time, and felt herself getting frustrated as each time she worked through the equation, the magic of it faltered, as if stopped by some unseen force. After the 7th time working through it, she groaned, pressing ink stained fingertips to her eyes at the feel of an incoming tension headache. Leaning back she stared at the ceiling of the pub, trying to calm her temper that flared at not being able to figure out what she was doing wrong, her face in her hands, as a cup of tea was placed at her table, surprising the witch.

Turning her face, the sandy haired barkeep grinned at her, “Sorry, I kind of just assumed you might be needing a cup, and I'm about to clock out for the night to join my friends. Earl gray with lemon, okay?” she smiled back at him gratefully, nodding and giving her thanks.

His eyes ran over her notebook for a moment and blinked in surprise, leaning forwards slightly to look at her writing closer, “Woah, are you an Arithmancer? That's amazing, I was awful at it at Hogwarts, could never get the hang of it.” The awkward grin and flush of his cheeks immediately reminded her of Ronald and she couldn't help but indulge him as she smiled back.

“No, unfortunately I'm not that talented at it, but I did manage to get my N.E.W.T.S in it. I'm mostly just trying to figure out an equation I put together but can't seem to get it right. I think I must be missing a variable or something that's throwing off my magic with it.” she sighed again, taking a sip of the cup of tea he had provided, “Oh thank Merlin, you actually know how to make a good cup of tea, I feel like I'll be here for ages still.” she laughed lightly, his grin getting larger by the moment.

“If you'd like, I'm sure one of my friends could take a look at it and help.” He nodded to the group at the table, which had since filled up with more wizards and two more witches. A wizard she recognized with scar tingling remembrance at the image of his profile, the bearded jaw line and confident grin instantly wiped the comfortable smile from her face and she shook her head slowly, doing her best to keep her voice level as she responded to the guy who reminded her so much of her friends from the future.

“N-no, that's okay really, I think I'm just going to sleep on it and try to figure it out later, thankyou....” she paused and looked up at him, “I'm so sorry, but I didn't ask your name? I'm Hermione Granger.” He was looking at her strangely, but after casting a glance at the table, and looking back at her he clearly decided to let it go.

“Halton Avery, it's nice to meet you, Hermione.” he replied, shaking her hand when she offered it. She pursed her lips, closing her journal wandlessly and securing her bag over her shoulder, doing her best to keep her hands from trembling as she reached for her hand in the pocket of her skirt. Smiling at Avery with as much genuine kindness as she could muster as her magic pushed itself to the surface to defend herself, she excused herself quickly. The crackling in her hair as she stood was only slightly obvious while the Gryffindor witch tried to make a swift exit.

' _Ofcourse Dolohov is friends with the nicest wizard I've met since I got here._ ' her mouth was so dry as she side-stepped the sandy haired boy, nearly running straight into another witch as she did, her mind much too distracted to even begin apologizing, barely catching a glimpse of long blonde hair as she moved as quickly as her oxford covered feet would take her. She missed the confused glance that Halton shot after her, the raised eyebrows of the girl behind him and the curious questions that were asked about her as she walked straight out of pub setting and out onto the streets of Diagon Alley as tears welled in her eyes.

She was way too far out of her element, she didn't even know _when_ she was, and now there were wizards who had gone out of their way to try to kill her or disrespected her to the highest degree just going about and living their lives without anyone the wiser to what they would become. She had always been a bit of a 'tattle-tale' as it was, so to know future Death Eaters were just sitting downstairs was making her mind sort of short circuit.

Hermione pushed her angry tears away, she knew Avery wasn't a good man in the future, she hadn't really dealt with him all too much as a child, but had heard his name in the trials enough to know that he was intimately involved with the Death Eaters. Same with the Malfoys, the Blacks, and most likely anyone who had been sat at that large table tonight, they were all part of families she probably knew all too well from her years of research and trying to understand how they had gotten to where they were politically in her time.

A ghost of a throb had begun when she saw the form of Dolohov, even years younger, he was the same man. Between him and Bellatrix Lestrange, it was a coin toss to whom she had anger towards more. She had always had a vengeful side, a part of her that could turn on those who couldn't understand the basic principle of loyalty or respect. She had never been able to get over how two grown adults could turn on teenagers. Without regard for their lives torture and maim teenagers who were just trying to protect themselves and stay alive. Not even counting all the other Death Eaters and their partners who stood idle by and let it happen, it had left bile in her stomach that rolled with whispers of revenge and hatred.

Hermione had never been a perfect representation of a Gryffindor, she wasn't fearless, she just bit through her fear like a true lion and made it look like bravery. There wasn't really a chivalrous bone in her body but she pretended well. She was made of nerve though, more nerve than she even showed most of the time because people could find it off-putting. Her daring nature ran through her like an electric current and didn't mind breaking rules as long as she knew she was right and the rules were wrong.

Grateful that the rain had stopped, the witch looked to the stars, and suddenly wished she had any sort of confidence in Divination. Arithmancy had been unreliable here and in this instance, and she felt like Elias would have words of wisdom that would bring her clarity in this moment, or Luna, who could ease Hermione's heart with a gentle touch and one sentence. Loneliness was a troubling feeling for her, it had been an issue as an only child, as the 'weird girl' in her muggle school, and throughout her time at Hogwarts being exiled by whichever person deemed her more trouble than she was worth. Swallowing tightly, she pulled her coat tighter around herself, and started making her way to the familiar friend of a bookstore. She grinned to herself when she saw they were still open, smiling at the older gentlemen at the front pedestal.

“Ah hello my dear, do come in, have a look around, we close in a few hours but you have your run of the place if you want to explore our stacks.” She smiled brightly, perusing through their aisles, slowly but surely making a stack for herself. She probably shouldn't be purchasing more books until she had a job set in place but her mind needed someplace to dive into that didn't drive her mad, and for Hermione, that was books.

As she approached the older wizard with her books, he raised an eyebrow at her, “All of this for you?” to which she nodded, her eyes raising to above the stacks and shelves, realizing only the man himself worked here, as a thought crossed her mind with haste.

“Excuse me sir, I don't mean to be rude, but would you like an extra pair of hands around here?” she blushed lightly, straightening her posture, “My name's Hermione Granger, I'm new to Britain and would love to work in a book shop if you need any help.”

Staring and then blinking rapidly, the man cleared his throat, “Well, I suppose I could use an extra hand, even if it was just so I could enjoy the weekends for myself. It's nice to meet you Miss Granger, I am Augustus Blott. If you need a job, you can find it here.” she grinned up at him, before going over when she could come by to learn the ropes the next day. She hadn't realized she had walked into Blott's Bookstore, the predecessor to “Flourish and Blott's” in her time, it had just felt like instinct.

It was late by the time she started walking back towards the Leaky Cauldron, having walked all the way down Diagon Alley with her troubled thoughts, feeling suddenly very silly for rushing out of the pub when she could have just gone to her room to sleep it off. At least she had a job while in this time. There was no telling at this point how long she would be here and she had to have a job to be able to get herself together.

A noise off ahead of her that sounded muffled but panicked, drew her attention, her feet carrying her recklessly forwards before she realized she was at the splitting alley that she had landed in when she first got to this time and peered down it again caution thrown to the wind at the sight of a brunette, her hair a little past her shoulders with green eyes that shown even in the darkness as she was held at wand point by three witches, a black haired witch at the front with her wand uncomfortably close to the either unarmed or disarmed witch. She stood with her shoulders tall, eyes never leaving the wands pointed at her from either side.

“You can't just push me around to get what you want Dahlia.” The brunette clipped tightly to the witches across from her, reminding Hermione of herself a few years ago when witches would turn on her out of spite and jealousy.

“Come now Katherine, it doesn't have to be this complicated. We all know your bloodline has been a mess since your grandfather decided to sully it, so why don't you just let someone who really deserves it to bring the Greengrass family back to glory?” Ah there it was, all snark and bigotry, she bit back a nasty retort, instead removing her own wand from her pocked and casting _Expelliarmus_ on the three witches with their backs to her.

If this was the same Katherine soon to be Greengrass that she thought it was, this as the woman who had the most power in Astoria's family and would lead them with a tight grip away from the bigotry of the Sacred Twenty-eight.

Hermione smiled, channeling her inner Rita Skeeter and Dolores Umbridge as she stepped forwards, “Katherine, are you ready to go? We still have to meet everyone at the Leaky tonight.” the green eyed witch blinked at her rapidly in surprise, before nodding, while Hermione kept her eyes on the angry witches in front of her, smile glued in place.

She straightened her peter-pan collared black and white dress before coming to her side and linking elbows with her. The engagement ring on her hand shined, before whispering that the light colored Redwood wand was hers, to which she passed over silently. Movement out of the corner of her eye alerted her that they were no longer alone and handed back the three wands.

“You should really be careful where you point those things, you could someone.” She clipped tightly, Dahlia stared at her with disdain before also catching sight of the approaching figures coming from Knockturn Alley. Katherine noticed at the same time and smiled, “Oh, Tom, Anthony, it's so _good_ to see you.” the exasperation in her voice was a clear giveaway, and Hermione still didn't take her eyes off of the spiteful witches, covering Katherine's hand with her own as a way of stilling herself from turning the three at her own wand point.

The new company came to either side of the girls, greeting them, and as Dahlia's last name was revealed to be Parkinson, Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes and finally relax slightly. 'All bark, no bite.' was apparently a genetic trait for the lineage. The other two girls name's she didn't recognize at all, but the grandmother to her school age beauty clearly had taught her daughters and granddaughters well if Pansy was any example of how to be a wretched example of kindness.

A hand touched the middle of her back and she looked to her left, her amber eyes meeting dark brown with a charming smile, curly brown hair framed out a jaw line that could have been made of marble. He was tall, but not towering over her, she barely came up to his shoulder, and before she knew it, the fake smile she had put on to defend her dear friend's grandmother, twisted into a real one as she smiled back.

“Are you ready to go, love?” The words drew her attention to the other male in their presence like breaking a glass in an otherwise quiet room. The blonde pressed a kiss to the temple of Katherine, sliding his arm around her protectively, and with the skill she had only seen in other members of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight', dismissed the three witches across from them, and both men walked them through connecting alleyway.

The two stayed connected at the elbow, Hermione's wand at the ready, and as she cast a glance over her shoulder to the dreadful tart, with a twitch of her wand hand and a non-verbal cast, she prayed her tripping jinx would trouble the girl for the next little while. A light snort to her left told her that she had been caught but he didn't comment on it, keeping his palm at the middle of her back without pause.

Once they were well out of eyesight, Kathrine turned her hand and gripped it around Hermione's, slowing her steps and turning to her, disconnecting herself from the wizard at her side, “My goodness, I think you might be my guardian angel.” she muttered, a flush across the bridge of her nose. “Who are you? I'm so grateful, thank you so much.” her hand tightened around her own and Hermione squeezed back.

“My name's Hermione Granger, and it's no trouble at all. I'm just glad I could help before that nasty tart could get her hands on you.” Hermione lifted her hand away to tuck her wand into the pocket of her coat and to smooth her hair back into place. “I'm not a fan of bullies, and some never grow out of that behavior and need to be put back in their places.” she clipped tightly, before reaching out and adjusting the strands of hair that had come loose of a pin that Katherine had in. She turned her head to look at the blonde at Katherine's side, “Am I right to assume then that this is Mr. Greengrass?” she asked with a friendly tilt her voice.

The blonde smiled, reaching his hand out, “Please, call me Anthony, you just helped my fiance out a lot, we owe you.” she laughed, shaking her head. He was sweet, and everything she had ever heard from Astoria about her grandparents had been good.

“Think nothing of it,” she paused to look to her left at the other wizard, “I was heading back towards The Leaky Cauldron if you'd all like to come with.” Katherine giggled, looking up at Anthony before replying.

“Actually we really were heading there to meet up with some friends before you showed up. I was just waiting for Anthony and Tom to get off work at Borgin & Burkes.” Something itched at the back of her mind with desperate clarity but she brushed it off, instead falling into easy conversation with the future Greengrass couple and admiring the rather quiet Tom at her side, who still kept his palm at her back but for the curly haired witch it wasn't uncomfortable. She had two best friends who were boys that were constantly putting their arms around her because they knew it reassured her, even when they couldn't do anything else.

As they stepped back into the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione was rather surprised to see the same large group from earlier still sitting, this time with Halton at the table, arm wrapped around the back of the chair the witch she had almost ran over sat in. The sight of Dolohov made her tense up tightly, she hadn't really been prepared for any of them to still be present, as a wash of realization rolled over her at the sight of the rest of the pub being empty. In a tense moment where her breath got caught in her throat, and unease settled in her breath, Tom had moved his thumb to make soothing patterns wrote into the fabric of her coat. ' _Tom. As in Tom Riddle.'_ Her mind whispered to her with startling clarity, swallowing her outrage, she turned to look up at him only to see him already looking at her with a modicum of concern, “I should go, it looks like your friends are waiting for all of you.” as she moved to separate herself from him, his fingers wrapped around her wrist with a gentleness she hadn't expected or been prepared for.

His hands were soft, but cool to the touch, his lips quirked into a half smile, with a brow quirked, brown eyes catching the light in the pub. The whispered rumors hadn't been wrong about him, he was handsome, but more than that, something about him commanded fealty like a king she had read about in stories as a child. “Stay, we can pull up another chair, we're having a late dinner anyways, and I think Anthony or Katherine would love to buy you a drink.” She could hear the future Greengrass couple agree whole heartedly, and in the back of her mind, she wondered if they knew how dangerous he was now, or if they still looked at him as the good-natured Headboy of the Slytherin house.

Her eyes slid behind him to the others at the table whom they had quickly gained the attention of, before questioning her sanity as words spilled out of her mouth like saccharine wine, a perfect smile in place, “Alright, Tom. Escort me?” she teased, surprised only slightly when he grinned back, tucking the wrist he held into the crook of his elbow with practiced ease.

“With pleasure.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on this chapter:  
> Song I wrote to: “Champion” by Elina & “Wake Me Up” by Tommee Profitt & “Thoughts” by Sasha Sloan  
> This is the longest of all the chapters I have written, quite dense and full of a lot of information. The goal for me would be to transition into this chapter length going forwards but we'll see how that works out. This is because we are getting into the actual material of this story rather than most of the lead up.  
> If you want to see what Hermione’s outfit looks like in my mind, look up the Pinterest Board that follows along with this story. That board has lots of face-claims and is sort of like my mind map of how I see this world playing out that I’m working on, so have fun falling down that rabbit hole with me.  
> It’s worth mentioning that Hermione was able to do wandless magic back in Hogwarts, and I truly believe without any doubt that she would have learned nonverbal spells and become very good at wandless magic at this age. We understand that Hermione is extremely intelligent, but she is much more than just a bookworm, she’s an incredible witch who I love to give a lot of praise to.  
> And now we get into the juicy stuff.  
> XOXO - Shyla


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